UTOPIA ENDS TODAY.:
Behind the Story
Welcome to my official break down and notes of my Best Australian Yarn 2024, UTOPIA ENDS TODAY.! A lot of brain power, soul and effort went into writing this short story: the symbols, the characters, the plot, the details, etc. The provided stimulus for this competition was to write “original fiction.” Let’s get into it!
The first step in the creation of this story was in the roots of the title, UTOPIA ENDS TODAY. Then, the idea for this story originates from pre-existing predictions about the state of society in the future. An example of this is the United Nation’s prediction of it taking 134 years to achieve gender parity; there are countless other social issues that are predicted to take longer than my lifetime. Though these are slippery variables to measure, they form the basis of my story. I wanted the story to be an investigation on these predictions and whether the utopian visions iterated by many science-fiction authors and writers are consistent with ethical values. Second to that, I asked myself the following: what is being sacrificed so these characters can live in their utopia?
This story takes place approximately 120 years into the future, where in the utopia of New Earth, racism, xenophobia, mental illnesses, gender inequality, crime, homelessness and other social issues no longer exist, and whereby a select portion of humanity have achieved this idyllic and peaceful state of being.
The other most important theme I focus on in this story is family and domestic violence. I chose this as it immediately presents an underlying conflict in this story, a paradox with an issue thought to be eradicated by the time the events of the story occur. To make the experiences of Victa Villanova authentic, I was given permission by a friend to use her experience with family violence. 'Jane' is the name I'll use to refer to my friend.
UTOPIA ENDS TODAY.​
I came up with the title UTOPIA ENDS TODAY (UTOPIA). whilst on a school camp. It came to me somewhere between hiking and using a Trangia cooker. This occurred when I was in either Year 9 or 10, I’m pretty sure. The phrase ‘utopia ends today’ has lived in my head since then and I never used it for anything until the Best Australian Yarn. I remember scratching the initials UET into this clay object one activity night as part of the camp. I think I also wrote it down in a journal somewhere on that same camp. In short, I came up with the phrase and left it in the storage lock-up of my mind and brought it out this year.
The Dreamscape takes the form of an abused and maimed memory. The surfaces in this void are awash with sickly colours and ill-toned hues. There is no unity, no harmony with any aspect of this place. Space and time stand still, yet this is the lair of a breathing presence that refuses to be identified. This metaphysical plane is directionless as is the young woman who sprints onto the scene.
I’m really interested in dreams and dreaming. I have always been a vivid dreamer. I was interested in seeing what I could do with the concept of dreaming in a creative writing sense. By definition, ‘dreamscape’ means “a landscape or scene with the strangeness or mystery characteristic of dreams” (Oxford Languages). By writing “this void are awash with sickly colours and ill-toned hues,” I established the setting within Victa’s head as something resembling the images that come up on Pinterest when you search ‘weirdcore’ and ‘liminal spaces.’ I’ve had a board dedicated to weirdcore stuff since before writing UTOPIA. It’s one of my favourite aesthetics. I used to hate creepy stuff but now I love it. It was also essential for me to mention the lack of unity and harmony to establish a disjointed atmosphere and setting. Hence, this is one of the paradoxes to the utopia of New Earth – the Dreamscape is Victa’s dystopia.
Her face is pallid and gaunt, hair plastered to her forehead by sweat. Her body is fuelled by a pounding dread and the realisation she cannot wake up from this nightmare. She feels the presence that haunts this realm, feels its parasitical nature force its way under her skin. She flees because something tells her she will be the first of thousands to become victim to this convincingly real place.
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Pretty self-explanatory – she’s scared shitless, and I articulated it using the good old ‘show, don’t tell’ writing technique.
Have you ever had dreams that you struggle to wake up from? Me too. And even worse, scary or unsettling dreams that you can’t wake up from? As well as the stressed feeling dreams can conjure, how convincing they are? Consider this integrating my experience into my prose.
In earlier drafts of UTOPIA, the ‘presence’ in the Dreamscape later took the form of four monster-like entities, one to represent each of Victa’s four family members. Symbolically, four is bad luck in Chinese culture (I’m half Chinese). So there’s the repetition of four a few times throughout the story. The allusion I made to ‘monsters’ also links to the final sentence in which I mention Victa is forever trapped with her monsters.
Important note: I foreshadow that Victa will join the four-thousand to-be-dead people of New Earth. And again, I say the Dreamscape is “convincingly real” because her dreams/nightmares feel incredibly realistic to her. As do mine to me.
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A scratching from within the walls of shadow and fog. A low whining between the would-be plasters. A tapping suppressed deeply within each atom of this place.
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The vibe I was going for ^^^
Her footfalls are clamours in her ears and heart but to any observer, this is a muted cacophony. The symphony of trepidation and the propulsion of fear strikes jarring chords in her mind. Her heart suffers endless concussions. To observe this scene is to witness the great calamity of a person attempting to escape what has haunted her for five long years.
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This paragraph exaggerates and reiterates the feeling of fear. I liked writing “Her heart suffers endless concussions” because it creates the imagery of her heart slamming so severely it almost gives out on itself, and the subsequent damage that is derived from that. That’s how bad her fear is. And yes, there is a clue as to what she’s running from, and that she’s been avoiding it for a long time.
The feeling of being stalked erodes for only moments when it creeps up and engulfs her all at once: the clutch of claws that have mastered the art of strangulation. Blows to her limbs she could swear splinters the bone. The fangs of this entity that drip with venom and vitriol.
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Again, I integrated my hyper-realistic dreams into Victa’s story. I know not all people experience dreams as intensely (e.g. their dreams are just ‘flashes’ of scenes, not feature-length films like mine), but I wanted to articulate the depth of Victa’s. I also mention the ‘entity’ again as you can see. Vitriol is also an awesome word.
Asphyxiation takes its hold. Ghosts of oxygen haunt her lungs. A stream of blood leaks from her eyes and seeps into her mouth. The trail of blood eclipses that of her tears on their race down her face. She catches sight of the body bag at her feet while she hangs suspended and the veil of her unconsciousness lifts.
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Artwork of Victa at this point in the story would be cool. It’s also important to note the body bag mentioned here!
She wakes in a cold sweat, heaving as though bricks have been balanced precariously on her chest.
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Reminds me of that scene in The Simpsons Movie where Bart is shooting at Homer with the pallet of bricks on his back.
Victa Villanova latches onto the life ring that is her reality on New Earth: her high paying job, security, a roof over her head. In slowing down her thoughts, she begins to notice, begins to breathe back in time to the rhythm of the new world that hums outside.
Her occupation as Head of Security pays her extremely well. Probably enough to live in Dalkeith. Or maybe a little less. Point is, she is able to fund having her basics needs. If you’re familiar with Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, you will realise that these are the foundational and physiological needs tier. The reason why having this job is so important to her is because there was a time (that’s not included in this version of the story) where as a result of the family violence, she was homeless. Now, she works hard to make sure all her needs are met, and that she'll never have to return to her past struggles.
She lays amidst the assortment of items on her doona: old job applications to work for New Earth Intelligence and Security or NEIAS; change of name forms and proof of identity; classified documents; a ring that is thicker than an average piece of jewellery; the schematics of a tiny improvised explosive device dated from 2139, with two signatures in the bottom left corner; promotional NEIAS brochures. Her watch states today is the fifteenth of March, 2144.
I think the closest I got to fulfilling the requirements of the Australian yarn genre was referring to the doona as such. Per my research, I just learned that the word ‘doona’ arose from the 1980s. In hindsight, this diction is the most Australiana I had to offer. Oops.
The items I refer to are clues to Victa’s character and her past. Obviously, she was successful with her job application to NEIAS; the ring is the detonator for the IEDs; the schematics, whose signatures belong to Victa and Eris. The interesting thing to me is the ‘change of name’ forms.
The naming of Victa’s character is intentional. I changed the spelling of Victor to Victa to make it less obvious that I was alluding to synonyms of ‘winner,’ ‘champion,’ ‘conquerer,’ etc. More on this at the end.
Villanova is an Italian surname meaning ‘new settlement.’ If you have put two-and-two together by the end of the story, you will realise Victa moved from her original abusive home to a new place. She quite literally achieved a new settlement.
Whilst planning UTOPIA., I drafted brochures that promote NEIAS and New Earth. A lot of the rhetoric and dialogue surrounding New Earth is that it aims to contrast from Old Earth (the earth we are inhabiting now). From the brochure, it can be deduced that the societal norms and mentality of New Earth are ignorant. Whoever created this discourse and instigated the New Earth mentality remains to be seen.
Victa gazes up from her watch. Golden light pours in through the window of her apartment like honey. The ivory shades of the interior are awash with a mesmerising glow. She watches as the sun rises upon New Earth and its pastel skies, the landscape drinking in the last droplets of the evening rain, hydrating the fields. She allows herself to release the breath she holds and absorbs the following notion: there is nothing to worry about anymore. There is nothing that can hurt me anymore. I am safe on New Earth.
The extensive description of New Earth establishes the utopian element of the story and setting, and is also a nod to the title. Oxford Languages defines ‘utopia’ as “an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect” (Oxford Languages), and is synonymous with ‘paradise,’ which is also crucial to the story. This imagery is intentionally juxtaposed against the harrowing and disjointed Dreamscape. Where New Earth is utopian, Victa’s Dreamscape and mental state is dystopian.
She pulls on her general-purpose uniform, her last name embroidered on a patch over her left breast, laces up her sturdy combat boots, braids her hair. She descends in the elevator, consulting her wristwatch for a revised list of New Earth statistics: population – newly four-thousand; crime – zero per-cent; air pollution – zero percent; threat level – none. She scrolls through another twelve or so statistics that would never be consistent with Old Earth and the way it was treated.
I went for a militaristic vibe. It’s like merging a security and intelligence agency and a national defence agency. Or just like a regular military intelligence branch. I also realised I created a sort of plot hole: if there’s no threat to New Earth, why is there a defence force? Additionally, my mate who read this story said she wonders if Eris had a hand in placing the meeting on Victa’s birthday.
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Victa is last to sit down at the elongated table of the meeting room, where usually she is the first to arrive. She catches Eris’ glance, whose gaze lingers on Victa for a second too long. She avoids the gaze of the other members.
First sentence of this paragraph is self-explanatory. The second sentence infers Victa’s nervousness and paranoia. Third sentence confirms this paranoia.
Eris Westerfield, the Head of Sciences, stands and addresses the room of sector leaders: Head of Health; Head of Environment and Landscapes; Head of Infrastructure; Head of Education; Head of Communication; Head of Finances. The current figureheads of the young nation and Victa, Head of Security.
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Meet the current gang of New Earth.
“Thank you everyone for making it on time,” Eris begins. “There’s only three-hundred personnel left to receive Villanova-Westerfield’s chemical imbalance regulation implant or CIRI. By this evening, we will have a fully-functioning workforce of four-thousand personnel. Thanks to the CIRI, our days and work have increased ten-fold in productivity. We farewell the implications of chemical imbalances in our brains that are consistent with debilitating Old Earth mental illnesses. No more ‘imagined’ obstacles to lay in the way of our work.”
I mention three-hundred people here, so at this point there are 3700 people with the CIRI. Additionally, it was my mate’s suggestion to put ‘imagined’ in single quote marks. Eris is *giving* someone who doesn’t believe in mental illnesses. In general, people who belittle and ‘don’t believe’ in mental illnesses really grind my gears.
The hour crawls by. Victa and the others file out of the meeting room, across the polished floor. Eris, her work partner of ten years and collaborator for the biomedical engineering aspects of the CIRI, catches up and pulls her aside.
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“You alright?” Eris questions, adjusting her spectacles.
“I’m fine,” Victa says, then recalibrates. “Just tired.”
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“Let me know if you need anything,” Eris replies. She pats Victa on the shoulder and heads to the Processing Centre for the arrival of the new NEIAS personnel.
An interaction with Victa and Eris. Eris’ name means “strife” or “fight.”
The paranoia seeps into her mind and licks like a flame, like lice in the strands of her conscience.
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Anthony Doerr is the author who inspires me the most. His flair for imagery and descriptive language is mind-blowing to me. So me writing “lice in the strands of her [Victa’s] conscience” felt very Doerr-esque to me. Cloud Cuckoo Land was the novel I was reading when I wrote UTOPIA. That’s part of where the science-fiction influence came from.
Victa makes a beeline for her apartment, waits for the sliding door to seal completely, for the green light to indicate the door lock is engaged.
She’s freaking out and locking herself away for a brief panic session.
Her mind reels and stomach churns. Of all days, why did the NEIAS committee organise a mandatory meeting on her birthday, the most triggering date on her calendar? The meeting was critical: it confirmed Victa’s comfort in knowing every person on New Earth has received the implantable device. But on the date that triggers her? Was she able to conceal it well enough? Did the other committee members notice? What would they think of the Head of Security? Can they feel secure when their top practitioner of security science is faltering and tearing at the seams?
I went ham on incorporating multiple questions within this paragraph, to illustrate the repetitive and cyclical nature of Victa’s anxiety. The barrage of questions as part of Victa's internal monologue stresses the theme of anxiety.
Italicising “was” as part of “The meeting was critical” was a suggestion from my mate who read the story; one of Victa’s very few comforts is knowing every individual on New Earth has the CIRI chip (spoiler alert) because she knows she has ultimate control over them. This contrasts to previously in her life where she had very little control over the events she was confronted with.
Also, if the Head of Security is freaking out, you should be freaking out, too.
Each thought piles on top of the other, a mound of maggots competing for dominance. Each memory fights for the final morsel of which it will feed off, to flourish, to fester. Her tear ducts erupt and she breaks down for the millionth time, as the Ordeal of 2139 comes hurtling back to her with stark clarity.
I was aiming for Doerr-level descriptive language again with my maggot metaphor. ‘Ordeal’ is capitalised because it bears the weight of being the single most traumatic event in Victa's life; she attributes it to proper noun status because it was literally such an ordeal to her.
Victa fixates on the bulky ring on her finger, fiddling with the sensor, while the Ordeal commences its playback.
At this moment, she is considering detonating the IEDs in the CIRIs. The overwhelming nature of her feelings and her stressful past almost tips her over the edge.
Her ‘father’ threw a kitchen knife at her and it sliced her hairline. Her ‘sister’ pinned her to the ground, smacked and scratched her face, almost rendered her unconscious in a headlock. Her ‘brother,’ who gifted her the blackest eye she’d ever seen and reeked of violence. But her ‘mother’ was the greatest monster of them all with those green eyes of greed. That narcissistic evil whose façade could charm anyone into giving her anything she wanted, who stood by and watched without interference while the other three continued their assault.
The actions of the sister, the brother and the mother are largely true to Jane’s experience with family violence – the only difference is with the brother. When Jane’s brother punched her in the face, it wasn’t ‘hard enough’ for it to come up and colour like a bruise. The real-life mother’s response to this instance was that ‘there was no visible evidence’ of Jane being hit so therefore, it must not have happened. Which is an example of psychological abuse AKA gaslighting.
I’ve also undertaken my own research on narcissism to better understand UTOPIA’s story, especially that of a covert narcissist. The following excerpt below explains the latter:
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“Covert narcissism (also known as vulnerable narcissism) is a narcissistic personality disorder subtype that combines traits like self-centredness and manipulative behaviour with an introverted demeanor. Because covert narcissists seems so reserved or even modest, it can be easy to overlook their more problematic traits.”
Sheldon Reid, HelpGuide.org (2024)
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What’s also important is understanding archetypal traits and the symbolism of mothers in literature, as well as societal and cultural understandings of this family figure. Having focused heavily on my English studies throughout my education, I had come to understand mothers to be representative of nurturing, wisdom, protection and love. Victa’s experience (and Jane’s) is the complete opposite. The mother is manipulative, and hence leads to her exploitation the New Earth staff and Eris to get to Victa once again.
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Happy Birthday, Victa Villanova.
The Ordeal occurred on Victa’s birthday, five years prior to the events of the story.
Every night since, Victa would whisper the following to herself, as sobs would rack her body: giving birth to a child does not make you a mother. You do not own and will never own your child. If anything was the most salient, it was this: my mother is not entitled to me.
I made the mother the most powerful figure in the story. I chose this because of the link that mothers share with their children, a bond unlike any other familial one. So for me to write that “giving birth to a child does not make you a mother” packed some punch for me, as it challenges the intrinsic bond between mother and child.
Another note Jane gave me to extrapolate on was that her narcissistic mother would, more often than not, take the merit for Jane’s accomplishments; her mother would always also have this sense of entitlement to the point it was controlling and coercive.
But the yelling. It was always directed at her.
It still scares me. After all these years.
Being yelled at is one of Victa’s triggers.
On nights she cannot sleep, she deliberates if it would have all been easier had her sister snapped her neck.
Suicidal ideation.
Her wristwatch beeps. She doesn’t check it but her mind flees to the conclusion that the NEIAS authorities have somehow penetrated the many layers of the premises, through to Victa and into her mind, to expose the secret of who she really is: a sick, affliction-ridden and damaged person, who presents a threat and anomaly to the tranquillity and cohesion of New Earth – who should have never stepped foot on this planet.
It’s irrational for her to think that NEIAS authorities just magically know about her mental illnesses. But when people's emotions are running on high, they aren’t rational. Victa also knows that she is an outlier and that she presents a threat to the mission. She temporarily wonders if she should submit to the system.
After three more beeps, she decides that being revealed for the traitor she is may be the best way out. She answers and her watch registers her voice, accepting the incoming call.
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She considers that maybe she should succumb to the system that’s been built, that she should be terminated to allow New Earth to flourish as had been planned.
“Victa? Victa, are you okay?” Eris presses. “It’s your birthday and you’re spending it in your apartment?”
There is something in Eris’ voice – something that knows.
Subtle foreshadowing, I guess.
Victa hangs up without warning.
Honestly same.
Four uniformed NEIAS workers force their way into Victa’s apartment. She reacts as if seared by their touch, every nerve in her body aflame with terror. Each of the four workers seize Victa by her wrists and ankles. But it’s Eris’ voice that carries through the chaos. Eris, the fifth member to join the group of four sends a flash of sharpness through Victa’s left hand. Coolness and numbing bleeds into her veins but she is burning in the depths of hell.
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The remark about the ‘flash of sharpness’ is personal. I had my wisdom teeth extracted this year, and when I was laying on the operation table, the anaesthetist didn’t warn me about when he was going to insert the cannular; he literally just stabbed it into my hand and my God that scared the shit out of me. Funnily enough, the operating room was giving the same vibe as a scene I cut from an earlier draft of UTOPIA.
Eris’ voice floats to her: “Thank God for your family’s safe arrival. They’ve told me all about you. Happy birthday.”
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The witch-demon mother worked her covert narcissist magic on Eris. Eris is a jerk for not asking Victa whether her mother's claims about her is true. I hate when people can’t think for themselves. Boo you, Eris.
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Then Victa screams out with all the frustration not just in this world but in all the universe.
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Her surroundings swim to her: a large cavernous room, with at least five-hundred NEIAS personnel watching from the audience seating.
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It’s giving Colosseum.
“This day has never been planned for,” Eris says, circling Victa, who lays crumpled in the centre of the room. “But here we have the first criminal, the first traitor to our mission and new world. Our own Head of Security.”
Eris is having a rant. Her stating that “This day has never been planned for” reflects how such a negative instance could never been perpetrated given the utopian nature of New Earth. Also, the plan was for Victa to receive the CIRI implant, just like the other 3999 humans inhabiting New Earth. All other members of NEIAS would have been under the impression that Victa received the CIRI, so her as an anomaly wouldn’t have been predicted. No predictions, then no plans for a day where the system was compromised.
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Victa fiddles with her ring, then fixates on the same four workers who compromised her apartment with Eris – realises that each are her family members, the four nails that secure the lid of her coffin in place. Her head aches with the reality that her mother managed to sway Eris and NEIAS authorities to allow them to join the mission. To think she had escaped them.
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It’s a massive punch in the gut for Victa: she thought she had escaped her abusers and was establishing a new life for herself. She has had it ripped away from her, all thanks to the combined effort of Eris and her ‘family.’
“I commend you four,” Eris announces, nodding to Victa’s family members, “for coming forward and telling the truth about Victa Villanova. Everyone on New Earth owes it you.”
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Eris, your ego is showing.
“Shut up Eris,” Victa says.
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Victa is ready to slap a bitch.
Eris goes to kick Victa in the head but she dodges it, gets to her feet and puts three metres between herself and her long-time project collaborator of a decade.
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Eris just made herself look bad for trying to kick Victa’s head in. Violence is still surviving, even years from now. Which is a detrimental element of society that I was having a rant about in my introduction.
“We should have never set foot on New Earth. We should have left it as is and died out on Old Earth. Anything we humans can see, anything we can touch, we will find a way to conquer it and infect it with our population,” Victa starts. “But it’s my luck that every security system, mechanism and process responds directly to me. Even if they have warned you, you’re all five years too late,” Victa declares, gesturing to her ‘family.’
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I remember in Year 10, I created this spreadsheet called Trip to Mars or something. Me and some mates were pretending to leave planet Earth and head to Mars to start afresh. I remember asking this one girl in my class if she wanted to join the mission and she said, in all seriousness, “I don’t think we should colonise another planet.” A damn boring response but she’s right.
Victa is a top-tier security professional. She’s vastly intelligent and was able to design all New Earth security systems to respond exclusively to her. Talk about being twelve steps ahead.
“There’s no way you’re walking out of this,” Eris presses.
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“There’s no way anyone is,” Victa continues, addressing everyone in the chamber. “The CIRI implant we built? You all forget it was co-created by somebody with extensive knowledge on security. Where there is security there is always a threat. And yes, Eris, the devil really is in the details. The details were the few steps prior to the finalisation of the CIRI product that were confirmed by me. The devil, or perhaps angel and saviour, is the IED I built into each implant in its final stages.”
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Everyone gingerly touches the napes of their necks where the flesh cushions the IED implant.
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“I never received the CIRI,” Victa says. “You’re all under my command.”
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A flip in Victa's character. She’s coming across as antagonistic now.
The horror dawns on Eris’ face but it’s the reactions of her family that Victa seeks.
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It’s interesting that she’s looking for her family’s reaction. Perhaps it’s to see what they think of her after all this time they’ve been separated, and that they really underestimated her.
“Victa Villanova, you tell me right now how these devices are detonated,” Eris stutters, faltering as she tries to maintain her dying power over Victa. “And you disable them immediately!”
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“The remote is biometrically-enabled. Once enabled, the cap flips open and the detonator you’re searching for sits here,” Victa states, gesturing to the bulk of her ring. “This world belongs to me. And it deserves to be restored to its original state.”
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Victa reiterates how she believes that humanity should not have colonised another planet. Yadda yadda yadda.
She hovers a finger over the button-
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“Victa,” Eris begs, chaos now afflicting the cavernous room like the cries of phantoms, “Victa, think about everything everybody gave up to live on a planet as good as this one.”
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“But did they suffer as much as I did?” Victa interrogates.
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A bit egotistical but given Eris truly hasn’t suffered, I’ll give it to Victa.
Victa takes in the final scene: anarchy, panic, humanity in all its forms. The last people she locks eyes with are her family. She smiles at them and they stare back in trepidation of what their daughter has become, and Eris dives for Victa just as she presses her finger to the ring’s button.
A series of deafening booms reverberates around the room. Heads explode from necks and blood splatters everyone and everything. Human entrails, pieces of skull and tendons adorn the walls and floors. Victa watches in awe as her greatest invention wipes the slate clean.
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“Heads will roll / Heads will roll / Heads will roll / On the floor.” – Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
She mouths one last sentence to her family, who cower and cry amongst each other, voices racked with distress at its most extreme. She is sure she hears them attempt to reason with her. Their IEDs sever their heads clean from their necks, and Victa wonders if she was too generous in rewarding them with an easy death.
Karma. The family members finally suffer their fates by Victa’s hand. It’s also funny how people attempt to make amends with you (the way Victa’s ‘family’ tries to) when things are going pear-shaped on their end. Additionally, it’s possible that Victa wonders whether she should have punished them slowly, the way they created emotional and psychological distress for her over a period of time.
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In the following six minutes, she descends the staircase of her dying conscience. She steps between the bodies of her Dreamscape and the sea of corpses, not bothering to take note, not bothering to create a list of names with which to mourn. She looks up to see bodies as far as the eye can see.
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According to my research, there is six minutes left of brain activity before someone dies. This was a generalisation made to fit Victa’s story, but I get the vibe that if you’re blown to bits by an IED, there’s nothing for your brain to process if those processing components have been incinerated to smithereens. Anyway – so her last bits of brain activity take place back in the Dreamscape, which is a construct of her imagination.
The population of New Earth at this point in the story was four-thousand (remember I said the population number was important).
Victa notices a lone body bag separated from the sepulchre of bodies. She approaches it and realises it's the same one from her previous encounter in her Dreamscape. She lowers herself, leans over it, gently unzips it: in there is the corpse of herself, wearing the hairline scar, black eye, bruised neck and shattered heart. Victa climbs into the body bag, lays down alongside her own corpse.
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To clarify, the body bag she sees in the Dreamscape at this point is the same one she saw in the Dreamscape in the story’s exposition.
She joins the other four-thousand bodies, where in the darkness she and her monsters will remain for an eternity.
Victa has already ‘died’ from the experience and traumas of the abuse she endured. She dies literally in the explosions from the IEDs. She has died twice. Hence why she appears in the Dreamscape twice: the version of her from the time of her assault and now when she’s died from the IED attack.
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Final thoughts
I would one-hundred per-cent revisit this story and write an extended version - perhaps a novella. I love writing complicated stories and characters, because honestly, life is rarely simple and straight-foward. There are elements that didn't make the final cut into the version of UTOPIA I wrote for the Yarn, so I'd love to write out the entirety of Victa's experience and life on New Earth. If you've made it this far after reading UTOPIA ENDS TODAY. and Behind the Story, thank you so much!
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Remember to follow me on Instagram: @klcando
